Free Spirit
by harllett
Summary: [COMPLETE] A girl sentenced to death by Cerdic flees to safety, and is rescued by a knight who finds something he never thought he could – someone who understands him.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer** : I don't own anything except Damek and "the girl". No suing please…

**Rating** : T

**Summary** : A girl sentenced to death by Cerdic flees to safety, and is rescued by a knight who finds something he never thought he could – someone who understands him.

**Author's Note** : Well, here it is, my first attempt at a Tristan fic. When he comes into the story, please let me know how good or bad a job you think I'm doing of writing him!

And just as a warning, this story will be pretty short and enclosed in a small time frame, and the chapters won't be particularly long either. It's just an idea that won't leave me alone!

So, enjoy, and let me know what you think.

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**Chapter 1 **

On a crisp winter morning in fifth century Britain a scream ripped through the cold air, a scream as chill as the breeze that ruffled the grass and lifted the hair of all those outside.

The scream came from a girl, who had seen no more then twenty such winters. Her eyes as grey as the winter sky had watched her home burned to the ground, her mother and sisters and brother killed by marauding Saxons, her life destroyed in a few minutes, eyes which were now marred with fear as a Saxon forced her onto the ground.

She screamed again, the wind whipping her fiery red hair around her face and carrying her terror to the ears of the smirking Saxons surrounding them.

The weight of his body pinned her down, and she fought with as much strength as she could muster, hitting at him with small fists and determinedly twisting her head, turning her face away as his lips searched hungrily for hers. His hand tugged at the skirts of her blue dress that had faded to a dirty grey, and which was stained with dirt from the muddy ground. His breath was disgustingly warm and foul-smelling against her delicate skin, and the rough furs he wore scraped against her. She closed her eyes as she continued to struggle, feeling her strength waning, when suddenly unexpected aid arrived.

A heavy boot swung through the air and connected with her attacker, the man falling off her. The girl quickly scrambled upwards, and half-crawled to a safe distance away, cowering in the shelter of a dry stone wall. She watched as her attacker was chastised by his leader, trying to control her breathing, which was coming out in sharp short bursts, clouding white in the frosty air. She gasped as the leader slayed her attacker with a swift motion of his sword, the blade glinting in the weak winter sunlight.

Crawling forwards, her blue woollen cloak falling off one shoulder, she grasped the rough leather breeches that clad his legs, thanking him in a voice full of relief but still tinged with terror. The man grasped her chin with a calloused hand and stared down at her face for a moment, while she gasped at the pain he was causing in her jaw. He let go and turned away.

Sinking back to the ground, shaking with relief, the girl watched him walk away. She hardly caught the next words, spoken in his low, gruff tone.

"Kill her."

"No!" she screamed as the words registered. Two Saxons grasped her arms and dragged her away. All her energy and fighting spirit came surging back and she fought with every last ounce of strength she had, but the men easily overpowered her. One gave her a sharp slap across the face to subdue her, and gave a short laugh at the cry she gave at her stinging cheek.

Another Saxon, this one taller than the others, appeared in front of them. He looked down at the girl and she was sure she saw in his eyes a flash of pity.

"I'll take her."

"No, Damek. She is ours to do with what we wish."

In an instant the man who had spoken was gasping for air, the larger Saxon's hand clenched around his throat. The man quickly released his grasp on the girl, the other following suit, and she fell to her knees, rubbing her arms where finger-shaped bruising were already appearing. The one they had called Damek released the Saxon who shot him a glare and strode off.

The large man lifted the girl off the floor and half-dragged, half-carried her away from the army of Saxons in silence, until they were almost out of sight. There, he dragged her behind a stone wall.

"Please," she spoke, her voice low and toneless. "Make it quick."

The man grasped her chin, much more gently than the leader had, and tilted her head so her eyes met his, eyes which had lost their sparkle and become deadened as she accepted her fate. "It is too late for me to flee," he said softly. "I cannot escape this life. But you can."

She stared up at him in shock, hardly daring to believe what he was saying. "What – what –" she stammered.

"Head west," he ordered. "There is a village on the far side of the forest. Warn them we are coming, give them a chance to escape, and then run. Run as if the hounds of hell were snapping at your heels. I doubt I can save you twice." She continued to stare, and he gave her an impatient but gentle push in the direction of the trees. "Go."

Finally she came to her senses. The briefest of smiles came to her lips as she whispered her thanks, then turned and fled to the cover of the dense forest.

Trees loomed out of the dimness, roots trying to trip her, but she dodged the obstacles, running and stumbling in her desperation for freedom. Branches tore at her, bark and thorns tearing at her skin. Blood oozed from the wounds, and dripped from a particularly deep cut where her chin had been whipped by a branch, but she was numb; numb from the pain, but not the fear. The fear flooded her body and filled her mind, driving her onwards, through the trees, taking over her mind until nothing else mattered except running as fast as possible in the direction of safety.

She couldn't keep up the pace for long, physically and mentally exhausted as she was. She got slower and slower, until finally she staggered into a clearing and fell to her knees, clutching her winded stomach. She rested for a few moments then tried to stand, but darkness clouded her vision and she passed out, falling to rest on the frozen ground.

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**A/N :** Well, I hope you like this intro to my first foray into Tristan-centric fic. If you like, please review, as it will make my day! 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer** : I don't own anything except Kele

**Rating** : T

**Summary** : A girl sentenced to death by Cerdic flees to safety, and is rescued by a knight who finds something he never thought he could – someone who understands him.

**Author's Note** : Thank you for the kind reviews! I hope you enjoy this chapter (Tristan, knight in shining armour…swoon!) and leave a message to let me know what you think!

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**Chapter 2**

Tristan's horse gave a soft whinny, the air flowing from his nostrils turning white in the crisp, cold air. He trotted forward in the grey dawn, Tristan on his back, alert as ever as he took in every sight and every sound around him. He ducked his head slightly to go under a branch, and as he lifted his head again the angle allowed his peripheral vision to become aware of something a few yards into the trees.

He stilled his horse with an imperceptible signal from his heels, his hand going naturally to a dagger at his waist. Dismounting silently, Tristan's free hand grasped the handle of his sword. He moved forward, his feet making the slightest sound on the fresh snow that blanketed the ground. The object in the undergrowth did not appear to be moving, but he had been caught out like that before.

He came to the last tree before small clearing in which the mysterious object lay. Using it for shelter he froze and surveyed the surrounding area. Sensing no threat he stepped out into the open.

A girl, lying crumpled on the frozen ground. His brow furrowed slightly. A trick? But all his senses were telling him there was no danger. And Tristan trusted his senses.

Finally relaxing slightly he let go of his sword and knelt down. What he saw made even the hardened warrior's heart constrict slightly. A slender girl lay bruised and broken in the snow, the pure white stained red in patches where blood weeped from cuts on her arms. A vicious cut curved down one cheek and onto her chin, the other cheek marred by a bruise. Her pale skin was deathly white, freckles that were dusted across her cheeks standing out in stark contrast, as did the strands of copper hair that were matted to her face with dirt. He lightly touched her cheek and found her freezing to the touch.

Suddenly concerned, Tristan moved his fingers to her neck, feeling urgently for a pulse. The slightest sigh of relief passed his lips as he found one, weak as it was.

He stared down at her, for once unsure on the best action to take. It would almost have been easier if she were dead – he would have felt no remorse leaving a corpse in the forest, as he had done so many times before. But she was alive, and something his brain was telling him he could not be as ruthless as normal and leave her to die, although she would be a hindrance if he saved her.

Reaching a decision, he carefully slid an arm under her shoulders and another under her knees, standing and lifting her thin frame easily. If Arthur could waste their time rescuing innocent sufferers, so could he.

**XXX**

"Arthur!" Tristan cantered up the track, past the slowly trudging villagers, carrying his precious cargo. He reached Arthur who was riding alongside one of the wagons that carried the sick and injured. "Arthur." He needed no words as he showed Arthur the girl lying across his saddle.

"Where did you find her?"

"The forest." Tristan looked at him, a flicker of desperation passing his eyes. "She needs help, Arthur. She's dying."

Arthur eyed Tristan in slight confusion. His unfeeling, straightforward scout seemed to be showing concern for this poor creature, the first time in fifteen years Arthur had known him to have compassion for someone other than his fellow knights and his animals. Shaking his head he snapped back to attention and dropped his horse back a few paces so he could see into the wagon through the door at the back.

"Dagonet? We need help."

Dagonet looked up from where he was tending to Lucan. Tristan manoeuvred his horse so he was next to Arthur. Wordlessly, Dagonet lifted the girl from Tristan's arms and laid her on the thick furs.

"I'll do what I can, Tristan," he promised, before turning back to his new patient.

**XXX**

A few hours later Tristan returned from another scouting mission. Professional and dedicated as he was, he'd managed to keep his mind on the task, but barely. For reasons incomprehensible to him his thoughts kept straying to the fragile creature fighting for her life in a wagon.

After reporting to Arthur, Tristan rode to the wagon that contained Guinevere, Lucan and the girl. Slowing his horse to a walk alongside the wagon, he peered through the sticks that formed the wall. All three were sleeping, Dagonet absent. The girl was closest to him and he found himself watching her for a few moments, almost more vulnerable now she was sleeping peacefully.

"I am not sleeping." The voice made him start, and he peered closer at the girl, who still had her eyes closed. A small smile came to her lips and she opened her eyes, revealing them to be the same soft grey as the dawn under which he had found her. The slightest hint of pink came to Tristan's cheek as she caught him staring. "You saved me." It was a statement, not a question. Tristan nodded. "Thank you." He gave a slight shrug in response. Tristan liked to save his words for when they were really needed. "You don't say much, do you?"

Tristan fought his sudden urge to speak, an urge which didn't come very often. He lost. "You should sleep."

She smiled at him again, a sweet, sad smile. "How can I, when my dreams are plagued with nightmares?"

"Horrors in our minds cannot hurt us." Tristan was as frank as ever. He had no time for dreams, or imaginings. Where did they get you? "Sleep."

"How can I deny my saviour anything?"

Tristan gave a curt nod and made to signal his horse forward. But a thought that had been plaguing his mind all day wouldn't go away. He fought it, but almost unwillingly, he looked back at the girl. She was watching him expectantly, as if waiting for words she couldn't know were coming. "What is your name?"

She smiled, satisfied. "Kele," she murmured, before her eyes crashed shut.

Tristan allowed himself the briefest of smiles, an expression that his face muscles were unused to making. _'Kele,'_ he thought to himself with an inward chuckle. _'Hawk.'_


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer** : I don't own anything except Kele

**Rating** : T

**Summary** : A girl sentenced to death by Cerdic flees to safety, and is rescued by a knight who finds something he never thought he could – someone who understands him.

**Author's Note** : Thank you so much for all the reviews! Seven for one chapter is pretty much a record for me, so thank you for making me so happy with just a few words!

Oh, and ella, I can't reply to your review as it was unsigned so I'll quickly say something here. When it comes to Tristan's personality I have tried to keep him in character, but at the same time I'm doing my own take on him, and the way he is in this is how I've interpreted him to be. I don't think chapter 2 has too much OOC Tristan, but if you think differently then fair enough. I think this chapter does a lot to explain how he feels and what he is thinking (in my mind at least.) With the fact she was bleeding and injured, I'm not saying that it was love at first sight, just that he felt compassion for her- which again, I think this chapter explains. I hope that clears a few things up and you continue reading.

Annyway, this is pretty much the main chapter of the fic, it is the central chapter as there will only be five, and also pivotal in the plot. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you enjoy reading it! Let me know if you like it, or if it sucks, which I really hope it doesn't…

**Chapter 3**

"We'll sleep here. Take shelter in those trees." Arthur turned to his scout. "Tristan."

"You want to go out again?" Tristan spoke to his hawk, and sent her soaring into the sky, before turning his horse to carry out his unspoken order.

The dappled grey mare cantered swiftly along the forest floor, the layer of snow crunching under her hooves, branches whipping at Tristan who was bent low to the horse's neck to avoid them. The area surrounding the make shift camp was clear. The Saxons wouldn't arrive tonight.

Tristan turned and returned to the camp, his sense of direction and his instincts telling him of the way. They had never been wrong yet. On his arrival he reported to Arthur, then allowed Jols to take his mare to cool her down and feed her.

Free for a few hours, until his next scout, Tristan walked towards the fire and leaned against a tree, pulling an apple from his pocket and his dagger from his boot. He started to slice off pieces of the apple, eating each slice slowly. His eyes scanned the camp, past all the villagers. After fifteen years, he still wasn't used to Arthur's incomparable compassion. He saw Lancelot, settled at the base of a tree. Dagonet, lying with the small boy. Finally, his eyes settled on a figure hunched by the fire. Kele. Why was she sitting outside? It was freezing, and she had only a thin cloak over her shoulders. He watched her for a few moments, chewing idly.

As if feeling eyes on her, Kele turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him. Tristan froze, then flicked his eyes back down to the apple. He cut off a large chunk and started to raise it to his lips, then paused and walked swiftly over to the girl. "Here." He offered her the apple. Smiling her thanks, she took the food from him, her fingers brushing his. Tristan made to step away, back to his tree, but he stopped and chose instead to settle himself on the floor, a few inches separating him from Kele.

**XXX**

Kele stared into the flickering frames as they danced and sparked before her. She did not allow herself to glance sideways at the scout sitting silently beside her, but from the corner of her eye she could tell he kept looking at her for a split second before turning away. She smiled to herself. Maybe he was quiet because he was simply shy. What ever the reason, his silence intrigued her.

He seemed to be fighting a silent battle with himself. He would glance at her then look away with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

She did not know what the battle was, but it looked like he was losing.

**XXX**

Tristan tossed his apple core into the fire, hearing it hiss as it met the flames. There was something he wanted to do, but at least eight times in the past ten minutes he had stopped himself from doing it. It was something he never did, would never have thought of doing, but somehow now he couldn't stop himself.

Despite the warmth of the fire he could sense Kele shiver, and with a sideways glance saw her pull her knees to her chest and hug them to herself. He sighed, losing the battle of wills with the voice in his head that told him this was entirely unnatural for him, and grasped the edge of his cloak.

Silently, staring straight ahead at the fire, he extended his arm, holding out his thick cloak. He refused to let himself look at her but he could tell she had turned to look at him, and could imagine the quizzical expression that would be on her face. After a few moments she shuffled closer to him, and he wrapped the cloak around her body, letting his arm rest stiffly around her, steadfastly ignoring Galahad and Gawain, who were smirking at him from the opposite side of the clearing. She laid her head on his shoulder and his body tensed. This was completely new for him, but somehow, he liked it.

**XXX**

Kele's eyes flickered open. Letting her vision adjust to the gathered darkness she sat up, rubbing her eyes and wincing as her hand caught the deep cut on her cheek. The fire in front of her had died down, the embers glowing a comforting orange, the charred wood cracking and popping softly. Reaching out a hand her fingers met empty space, where Tristan's warm body had been when she fell asleep, his soft breathing lulling her into slumber.

A smile came to her lips as she realised his warm, heavy cloak had been draped over her. Standing, she pulled it tightly around her body and surveyed the makeshift camp. Villagers and knights were scattered across the clearing sleeping, huddled together for warmth. Her eyes sought the dark scout who had aided her, but her quick search was fruitless.

Hearing a slight sound in the forest a smile flitted across her face, and she turned and walked into the shadows of the trees. Branches waved lazily in the cool breeze, catching at her arms and her face, the frozen dirt crunching under her feet. Trees loomed out of the darkness like potential assailants, but she kept walking, until she reached a small clearing. Sitting on a fallen log, she waited.

It wasn't long before she knew he was behind her. Silent he was, but in the short time she had known him she had learned enough to know that he would come. She would never have considered herself a good judge of character, but to her, somehow, the mysterious scout was like an open book.

She counted down in her mind, a smile playing on her lips. '_5…4…3…2…'_

"You should not be out here alone."

The smile turned to a grin as he spoke. "I'm not alone, am I? And what harm can befall me when you are here to protect me?" Tristan had no response to this, his only reaction being to walk around the edge of the clearing until he was in front of Kele, a dark pillar in the blackness of the forest, his eyes which gleamed in the meagre moonlight being the only display of life. "You have killed many men, haven't you."

Tristan snorted. "You have a knack of posing questions as statements."

"You didn't answer the question."

"It wasn't a question."

"Then tell me if my statement was correct."

Tristan fell silent again. He sighed, a long exhale of breath that clouded in the frozen air, before replying. "Yes."

"I wish I could say that I had killed." Even with the distance between them, Kele could see his eyes widen in shock before he had crossed the space in three long strides and sank to his knees in front of her.

"Never say that, Kele. There is no pride to be had in murder, only remorse and guilt, until the killing becomes so frequent that even that passes, and all that is left is an empty shell of a man." He would have betted that that was the most he'd said in one breath in fifteen years.

"But those men, those Saxons - I was weak, Tristan, I – I begged them not to hurt me, I begged!" Her eyes glistened with tears and the pain he saw there shocked him. "And I thanked them. I thanked them, Tristan, for sparing me." Her voice was hollow. "I wish that I had had the strength, the power, the courage to kill them."

"Killing does not take courage. I am not a courageous man."

"Then maybe we are more alike than you think." Her eyes searched his and he stared back at her in a battle of wills until, perhaps for the first time in his life, he gave in first and cast his gaze to the shadowed ground.

"You have a warrior's spirit," he told her softly. "And a desire to kill. But I think that perhaps you would not kill a man, even if you were handed a sword and ordered to. For you are full of compassion."

Kele reached out and placed a finger beneath his chin, gently tilting his head upwards until his eyes met hers. "And you have a gentle spirit," she whispered. "Your actions have been demanded by your circumstances." His eyes dropped once more and she forced his head up again. "You are also a compassionate man. You could have left me in the forest."

He stared at her, eyes burning in the darkness, hidden behind a braid that had fallen across his forehead. "I have shown no compassion to the thousands I have killed on the battlefield." She reached up and gently brushed the braid away from his face, waiting for to him continue, the tips of her fingers gently tracing the tattoo of his cheek. His breath caught in his throat and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation, until reality hit him. Reaching up his hand he grasped her wrist and pulled her hand down, resting it back in her lap. "I am not a good person, Kele. I do not allow people to care for me. And I do not allow myself to care for them."

She gave a curt nod, her face an impassive mask, but her eyes betraying her hurt. She stood, smoothing down her dress, and walked swiftly across the clearing to return to the camp.

Tristan stood and watched her go. Alien emotions were flooding his mind, most notably the one that had been telling him to kiss her. For the first time in a long while he felt ashamed of what he was, of what he did. Shame was a feeling he usually kept hidden deep down inside, but tonight that had changed. Normally he didn't care one jot what people thought of him but suddenly, desperately, he wanted Kele to understand, to trust him, not turn and flee from the cold-blooded killer he was.

"Kele." His voice sounded in the darkness, one short word that flooded the air and seemed to hover as an unasked plea. She stopped walking and slowly, ever so slowly, turned around, waiting. "I – I kill people, Kele. And I do it without feeling, without remorse. But I want you – no, I _need_ you to know, that I don't enjoy it, like people think I do. I have to do it, and I have to do it well, so I can survive and return to my home. So long along, I managed to come to a point where any emotions I feel are hidden away. So I don't feel anymore."

He watched her, eyes pleading with her to understand, to accept him for who he was. He couldn't expect her to like him, but she could accept him. Maybe that would bring peace to the heart he hadn't felt in so long, that was now surging with emotion. He hadn't felt for a long time, that was the truth – but he had met her, and now he did. And it scared him.

She considered him for a long while until eventually her face softened, and she smiled slightly. "I understand." He smiled in relief. "But, Tristan?"

"Yes?"

"Just because you don't feel anything on the battlefield doesn't mean you have to be afraid of emotions in other areas of your life."

With those words she disappeared into the trees, leaving Tristan in a turmoil he never thought it would be possible for him to feel.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer** : I don't own anything except Kele

**Rating** : T

**Summary** : A girl sentenced to death by Cerdic flees to safety, and is rescued by a knight who finds something he never thought he could – someone who understands him.

**Author's Note** : I'm sorry it's been so long! I've been busy with uni, I went away for a weekend, and I've been working on a new fic! I've also hit massive writers block with this and ALSL, so I'm not too happy with this chapter, but hopefully it isn't too bad! Let me know what you think.

And thank you for all the reviews!

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**Chapter 4**

The ice creaked ominously as the knights cautiously led the company over the frozen lake. The beat of the Saxon drums was getting ever louder. There was no chance they could escape without fighting.

Tristan's horse was clearly afraid, but faithfully followed her master. The ice gave a loud crack and Tristan pushed his horse back. To him, his animals' lives were more important than his.

He looked round at Dagonet whose face expressed agreement with Tristan's unspoken words. They had to fight. Arthur turned to face them. After fifteen long years together, the men knew what each other was thinking.

"Knights?"

"Well, I'm tired of running," Bors replied. "And these Saxons are so close behind, my arse is hurting."

"Never liked looking over my shoulder anyway," Tristan concurred. Dagonet gave a tiny smile.

"I say we put an end to this racket," Gawain stated.

"And finally get a look at the bastards." Galahad wasn't going to back down from a fight.

"Here. Now." Dagonet was willing to follow Arthur anywhere.

The decision made, the preparations for battle began. Tristan stood for a moment, then for once in his life his heart won over his head and he walked to where Kele stood, looking at him fearfully.

"They're going to get us, aren't they?" she whispered. Tristan was stunned by the raw fear in her eyes.

"What did they do to you?" She didn't respond, merely stared at him. The pain in her eyes conveyed her words and Tristan was overcome with a hatred so intense that he knew he would kill as many as it took to avenge her. "I won't let them hurt you." His eyes were sincere. "I promise."

She nodded, a ghost of a smile gracing her face in gratitude, and Tristan, again listening to his heart and yet being afraid of what it was telling him, bent down and brushed his lips against her forehead for the briefest of seconds, before turning and preparing to fight.

**XXX**

Kele stared out of the wagon at the frosty trees they were passing. It had been almost an hour since they left the knights, and her heart was consumed with fear for Tristan. She had known him a few short days, and yet she knew that she felt something for the older man, with his bewitching eyes and the hair he hid behind, the tattoos that lined his cheekbones, and the air of mystery that surrounded him, a mystery which she had gone someway to uncovering. The man who had trusted her enough to tell her things he never spoke of.

And he had kissed her.

As she reached up to touch the spot on her forehead that his lips had touched she heard a screech and looked up. Tristan's hawk was circling above them. It screeched again and flew down a little lower, constantly circling.

"Jols!" Kele shouted to the squire, who was leading four of the knights' horses. "Look." She pointed up at the hawk.

Jols eyed the bird for a few moments, then nodded, and signalled to Ganis, who was leading the other horses. The two men turned round and started back the way they had come. All Kele could do was wait.

**XXX**

After what felt like hours, the sound of hoof beats on the forest floor behind them was heard. Kele quickly clambered down out of the wagon and turned, waiting nervously. She almost collapsed with relief when the rider came into view, and she saw it was Tristan.

He rode straight past her, to the front of the train of wagons, and spoke to whoever was driving the first. The wagon came to a halt and slowly all those that followed ground to a stop, the wood creaking as it came to rest. He then turned back and rode back down the line.

Kele reached out a hand and he pulled his horse to a halt next to her, looking down at her with eyes shadowed by grief.

"Are you alright?" she asked softly.

"Yes," he replied curtly. "I need to make sure there are no ranks waiting to ambush us. Wait for the others." With that he urged his horse into a canter, leaving Kele wondering why he was being so distant.

Her question was answered a short while later, when the other knights caught up to the company. Mounted on the horses that Jols and Ganis had returned to them, they were sombre and silent. Sprawled across the back of his trusty stallion was Dagonet. The company fell silent as they saw the man who had died in order to save them.

**XXX**

Later that day, the wall came into sight. Tristan returned from his final scouting mission as they emerged from the forest and began the journey across the plain to the intimidating expanse of grey stone. Kele stared at it in wonder as they approached it.

"An amazing feat, that man can create a thing of such strength," she commented to Tristan in wonderment as he rode up beside her.

"Perhaps it is not such a good thing," he replied quietly. She turned to look at him in surprise.

"But it keeps your enemies out! It protects you, and it protects the people that live beyond it."

"Does it keep people out, or does it keep us in?" He looked her in the eyes. "It is like a barrier to our freedom."

"But does it not please you to see it? To know that when it comes into sight you have returned home, safe from another mission?"

"This is not my home," he snapped, fury rising in his voice. "And every time I leave it, I have no fear that I will not return. I have no desire to see it! If I never saw the place again, it would be too soon." With that, he kicked his dappled mare into a canter, and soon all that could be see of him was a cloud of dust kicked up by the pounding hooves.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer** : I don't own anything except Kele

**Rating** : T

**Summary** : A girl sentenced to death by Cerdic flees to safety, and is rescued by a knight who finds something he never thought he could – someone who understands him.

**Author's Note** : Well, here it is, the last chapter! Sorry it took so long, I've been working on my new fic and was away at the weekend! Hope you like the conclusion to this, I know the story was short but I knew it would be, and I think it works.

Thanks for all the reviews (sorry if you didn't get reply reviews for the last chapter, I had a minor disaster with deletion in my inbox!) they really do keep me writing, and I appreciate every one!

Also, if you did like this and haven't checked it out already, my new fic Hidden in the Mists is up, and is very Tristan-centric !

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**Chapter 5**

Kele stood looking out at the flickering campfires of the Saxon army, camped outside the Great Wall. Tristan was with the knights, discussing their plans, although no doubt he was just sitting listening to the others, as he was so wont to do, with only a small contribution that would no doubt be the best suggestion of the whole conference.

She loved that about him, loved the fact that with a few well-chosen words he could get he opinion across, an opinion so valued by his fellow knights. He was so awkward sometimes, yet fit seamlessly within the company. He was a part of them, as much as Lancelot was with his clever words and charming flattery, or Bors with his outspoken nature and humour, but he didn't have to make a spectacle of himself with ale or women or wit to do so.

She loved that about him, and she loved more than that – she loved him.

She became aware of his presence even before he stepped up on the wall behind her, something intuitive sensing his light, silent footsteps upon the stone.

"I'm sorry." He spoke first, words filling the expectant silence that lay in the still night.

Turning to face him she gave a soft smile. "There is nothing to apologise for. I should have understood."

"You do," he replied. "More so than anyone I've ever met."

Silence fell again – there was no response to that, and they stood companionably side by side, staring thoughtfully at the sparks that flew from the flames spread across the plain.

"You are leaving for Sarmatia tomorrow, aren't you."

"Another statement," Tristan replied with a smirk.

"But you know by now to answer them," she returned.

"Yes, I do. And the answer is yes." She nodded, unsurprised and inwardly relieved. He looked at her, a battle between his head and his conscience raging in his eyes. "I feel like I'm running away. I always thought I'd die on a battlefield, not as an old man in Sarmatia."

"Then stay."

"Perhaps I want to survive, and die as an old man," he teased with a slight smile.

"I thought you didn't care if you lived," she responded, almost petulantly.

"What makes you think that?"

"You said you didn't care if you ever returned here, if you didn't return safely from a mission."

"Well, maybe I have something to live for now." She gaped up at him. "I – I'm no good with words," Tristan said gruffly. "Just know that no matter what happens tomorrow, I'm looking out for you. And I never thought I'd find someone like you, especially not in the half-frozen waif I picked up in the forest."

Kele giggled and wrapped her arms around him, giving him a hug. He froze for a moment, then his body relaxed and he awkwardly hugged her back. "Seems to me like you're pretty good with words," she mumbled into his chest.

Grasping her shoulders, Tristan pushed her back slightly and looked down at her. In an action so quick Kele wondered if she had dreamed it he lowered his head, brushed his lips roughly against hers, and then strode away into the shadows.

**XXX**

Tristan went back to fight. She had known he would, knew deep down that he would not leave his commander and friend to certain death. But she also knew, deep down, that when he looked at her before mounting and riding away he was accepting his own fate, his own likely death, and that she had to expect the worst.

The minute Ganis galloped up to the caravan slowly leaving the Wall, Kele knew something bad had happened. She could see it in his face, in the eyes shadowed by grief and horror at what he had seen. And there was a fear in her heart and a feeling in her stomach that something had happened to Tristan.

As Ganis dismounted to assure Vanora that Bors lived, Kele snatched the reins of his mount and swung herself into the saddle, turning to ride back to the battlefield. Ignoring Ganis' angry shouts she kicked the horse into a canter, fear for Tristan driving all other thought from her mind.

As she rode around the base of Badon Hill she gagged at the smell and the sight of all the broken and lifeless bodies that littered the ground, swimming in crimson rivers. Trying to ignore it she focused on a small group gathered at the base of the wall.

It was the knights, she could see that much. Four knights. Too few…

The sense of dread in her stomach was building as she skirted the edge of the field of destruction, making her way towards the knights. She could make out Bors' stout figure, Gawain's mane of hair – but no quiet man standing to the side, invisible despite being present, tiresome hair falling into stormy grey eyes.

Galahad turned and saw her as she dismounted a few feet away, and quickly alerted the other knights, who turned and hurriedly formed a protective barrier. But it was too late.

Tears swelled in her eyes as she caught a glimpse of Tristan lying on one of the only patches of green grass left untainted, still and silent and undoubtedly dead. Shoving Arthur to the side she rushed through the wall of grieving knights and fell to her knees at Tristan's side, taking his dirtied, bloodstained hand and holding it to her heart.

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked towards the sky, a sky whose smoky leaden greyness leant sympathy to the tragedy that had occurred. Circling amongst the pillars of smoke rising from the burning ground was Tristan's hawk. The bird gave a screech and circled again, calling for her lost master, before swooping down and brushing Tristan's chest with her talons. Screeching again, the bird powered upwards and soared away, soon a black speck against the opaque sky.

Smiling through her tears, Kele squeezed the hand of her lost love, his spirit finally free to soar with the bird he so loved, across the endless skies.

**THE END**


End file.
